


You Are In Love

by mouseratstan



Category: Parks and Recreation, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Affairs, Alcohol, Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Government, Marriage, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseratstan/pseuds/mouseratstan
Summary: A collection of Ben and Leslie drabbles and one shots all based off Taylor Swift songs.Some angst, some fluff, some dark, some sexy, and everything in between. Canon compliant and some total AUs too!
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	1. wildest dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Wildest Dreams.
> 
> For my twin Jordan!

There are stars in both their eyes.

Everything is new and beautiful and oh so perfect, sitting on Leslie’s couch deep into the night. It's the weekend, no need to worry about work tomorrow, no responsibilities or any need to keep quiet. Just Ben and Leslie, pajamas, red wine, and a whole lot of making out.

She groans against his lips, and Ben holds her tighter around her waist, hands creeping up her oversized shirt with a kind of hunger that comes with months of pining, weeks of secrecy. They're gasping, holding on tight, Leslie straddling him, and in that moment, it seemed very clear where the night was going to be headed.

He grinds against her, touches her cheek, and that's when she pulls away, gasping for air.

“Ben,” she whispers, reaching over to the coffee table for her wine glass. “I think I’m drunk.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't be drinking any more of this,” he teases her, reaching to pluck the glass from her hands, but she refuses. She gets up, actually, leaving his lap in favor of standing, tilting the glass, and drinking the rest in one swallow.

“Take that, Wyatt,” she hisses, slamming the glass down a little too aggressively. “Now I’ll really be drunk.”

He stares at her for a little too long, at his  _ girlfriend,  _ this incredible woman that he first kissed only two weeks ago. It's amazing, really, that two weeks later and they're still just as  _ all in,  _ still deeply into each other, still very much okay with this secret they're keeping. A miracle, actually, if he thinks about it, that they haven't had that conversation at all. They've actually been enjoying the secrecy, and now he stares at her as she's flushed red with wine, stumbling across her carpet in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear, collapsing on the couch next to him.

“Babe?” he mumbles, a nickname he’s rather fond of calling her. “Hey, are you okay? Is it hitting hard?”

She grunts, hiding her face in the cushions, and it's obvious she's not doing so well. Wine  _ is  _ crying juice after all, and she's already someone who cries easily. Ben smiles sadly, going to reach for her, just for her to flinch.

“Leslie?” he asks again, softer this time. “Hey… what is it?”

“Do you ever just think?” She doesn't move to show her face, but her voice is thick with emotion. “Do you ever just think about how stupid this is?”

The words are a punch to his gut, but he tries not to take it too personally, not as an attack. “I… what do you mean?”

“I mean, this is so stupid. You realize that, right? It's actually  _ sad.  _ I want you. But do you ever just think about what this is doing to us?”

“I… Where is this coming from?”

“From everywhere! It's all one big  _ uh oh  _ because this thing we have, it's unsustainable. How can we be together and never tell anyone? How exactly do we expect this to end? Because this can't be forever. We can't do this, you know, it's either gonna be forever, or it's gonna go down in—”

_ “Stop,”  _ Ben chokes. “Stop, Leslie, just… stop. I don't know why you're doing this right now, but I can't do it.” There's an ache in his chest, a painful realization that she's  _ right,  _ that they can't do this forever. But trying to figure out the future has been so impossible that goddammit, Ben has been trying his hardest to live in the present, with her. To enjoy it all, for as long as possible. But this… “What do you want me to say?”

Leslie lifts her head, and just the sight of her is just as bad as her words. Her face is still flushed, her eyes red with tears, hair a mess, overcome with sobs. It's definitely the wine,  _ definitely the wine,  _ but still, there has to be truth to these words. These have to be things that she was holding in.

“Nothing,” she cries, shaking her head. “But you're going to ruin my life, you know that? You'll destroy it.”

This time Ben actually chokes, a strangled sound that doesn't sound real. This can't be happening.  _ It can't be,  _ not when they're only two weeks in and there's still so much he wants to do with her, so much he wants to explore, so many more times he wants to kiss her and fall asleep next to her. “Leslie…”

_ “It's true!  _ I've thought this over, and I… I see no other way around it. If we keep this going, we’ll be found out eventually. No one keeps a secret like this forever. We’ll be found out, and it'll  _ ruin me.  _ It'll destroy me and all my… all my aspirations, and my career, and we’ll be fired over a sex scandal.  _ A sex scandal!” _

“Is that all this is to you? A sex scandal?”

The room falls silent, the two of them staring at each other. The stars in their eyes have turned into glass, shattering against the carpet like wine glasses, and the world stands still. They breathe in unison, either waiting for an answer, both unsure they want to hear what the other has to say.

“Of course not,” Leslie breathes, though it does little to loosen the knot in Ben’s chest.  _ “Of course not.  _ But they… the world won't know that. And aren't you scared? Because sometimes when I fall asleep I imagine all of this coming crashing down. Losing my job and losing you in one fell swoop.”

_ So it's his fault.  _ His fault for wanting her, for seeing her, for kissing her. His fault for pursuing her, his fault when it comes to their inevitable destruction. And when everything comes crashing down and they're both in pieces on the floor, that's how she’ll remember it. A boy that got in the way of what she really wanted.

Ben shudders, tears falling. “I wasn't aware you were counting down the days until our relationship collapsed.”

“I’m sorry—”

“You’re  _ not,”  _ he hisses, taking a step back from her. “Don't lie to me. You're not sorry. You… you envision this whole thing with a  _ time limit,  _ a clock ticking down until the final days.”

“Don’t act like you're suddenly the idealistic one between the two of us—”

_ “I am because of you, Leslie!  _ Because you  _ made  _ me this way. Because you… you fucking  _ inspired  _ me, and you showed me living in bitterness and emptiness was no way to live. You showed me there were still things to get excited about, still things about this world to love, because I see them through your eyes.” He gasps with the outburst, his throat raw from the yelling and the wine, trying to catch his breath, trying to retrace his path to find out where they went wrong here. “You've made me a better person, so now you're sitting here saying… what, that it's over?”

“Of course it's not over,” Leslie whispers, hands trembling, looking small. “Of course not. I care about you so,  _ so  _ much. All I’m saying is, when this… when this is all over… you'll remember me, right?”

He stares at her, committing her to memory.

“Not like this,” she says. “Not in a bad light. But… looking at the sun. Smiling. Happy. Remember me at my best, will you? I don't ever want to be a villain to you. Even if one day, we never see each other again.”

He can't imagine never seeing her again. He can't imagine forgetting this, not when these memories will haunt him, follow him around, leave him dreaming of her and all that they had every single goddamn night.

“We’ll see each other again,” Ben insists. “We’re not going anywhere. I swear to you, no matter how this ends, even if I have to ruin my own life for it.  _ I’m not going anywhere.” _

Leslie only smiles, somehow more heartbreaking than all the words she’s said to him tonight. “But nothing lasts forever,” she says. “And this is gonna take us down.”


	2. champagne problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on champagne problems.
> 
> Originally posted as a separate one-shot that has since been deleted!

There's something so deeply chilling about December nights.

Something dark, almost eerie, Christmas lights peeking from the windows and the rooftops and snow crunching under her boots on the sidewalk. It's haunted, really, as she shoves her hands deeper into her pockets in an attempt to keep them warm, the air freezing her breath, and she knows tonight's the night.

Ben’s grinning broader than usual, practically skipping beside her, reveling in the snow and the lights and dark stretch of sky above them. He keeps looking up at the stars as if they might show him his reason for being, and then he looks at her, and there's something so  _ final  _ there that it chills Leslie to the bone, even more than the snow does.

“What's gotten into you?” she asks him, skipping ahead to match his pace. “You're practically dancing.”

“I'm excited to,” Ben says. “Dance, I mean. You can hear the music, can't you?”

She can. They're standing outside the house and the colors are brighter now, flashing red and green, with giant inflatable snowmen covering the lawn. It should be beautiful, and it should excite her, like all things Christmas usually do, but for some reason now it's all tinted gray and nothing is the same.

“Yeah,” Leslie breathes. “Let's dance.”

And again, there's that feeling.

-

The music is loud and the champagne is plentiful.

Ben’s family laughs in the background and their shared friends clink their glasses, turning up the music. Gifts are exchanged as well as greetings, hugs, and promises of continued communication. There are tears in eyes, smudges of makeup, and the lights get darker as the mood shifts.

Bottles are popped and they're dancing, and Leslie is only doing it because she thinks she's drunk. She thinks she's had too much to drink and her champagne glass feels heavy in her hands, so delicate as if it might shatter, and the way Ben holds her is so desperate, like he's clinging onto a thread. His palms shake, maybe from the alcohol or maybe from the fear, and there's a sort of ache there, a deep pang in her heart as she grasps his palm and sees their lives flash before their eyes.

She sees herself, leaving their hometown, packing her bags and catching the first flight out. She sits alone at a window seat and stares down at the world below her, trying to get a new perspective, wondering if all the lights in Pawnee will shine the same without her.

But they will. Oh, they will.

But Ben won't shine the same, Ben won't look at the world and the sky the same way, like they've brought him everything, like life is precious. He won't smile as he walks anymore and he absolutely won't hold her with this much certainty. She might just shatter under his earnest gaze.

So she drops his hand.

The world doesn't stop. The music still plays, and people keep dancing. No one notices but Ben, who falters, who thinks for a moment that Leslie slipped. He stumbles himself, reaching out to her, and she shudders at the touch.

“Hey,” he frowns. “Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?”

“It's not the alcohol.” Except maybe it is. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe when she's sober she’ll wake up and everything will make sense again. Maybe these are just champagne problems.

Ben frowns, reaching to touch her shoulder again, but she flinches, pushes back, and suddenly it's so much darker. The lights only mock her and the clinking of glasses pierce her ears and oh god, it's spinning, and it's overwhelming, and she wants  _ out, out, out— _

“I'm just not feeling so good,” she decides, gasping. “I just— I can’t…”

And Ben maybe isn’t so much drunk on champagne as he is on love, because he's smiling again, something so wicked, and the way he shifts his weight and puts his hand in his pocket leaves a hole in Leslie’s heart, and she sees it all coming so clearly all of a sudden.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, I was going to wait until midnight for this, but…”

“Ben?”

“... but I can’t help myself. Because maybe this’ll cheer you up. Because I am… deeply, ridiculously in love with you.”

“What are you doing?”

He gestures somewhere and the music slows, quiets, and hushed whispers follow, and excited chatter, and it's clear everyone is in on something that she's not. Ben’s family gasps, their friends push the crowd to see, and Leslie trips on her own two feet as Ben gets down on one knee.

“Oh my god,” she chokes. “What are you doing?”

There's clearly a lot of words he wants to get out. He's choked up and he's got so much love in his eyes, so much love to give, and it strikes Leslie now that she didn't really see this coming. She thought she could foresee leaving him, but never like this—  _ God,  _ never this cruel. It's already too much to take, and it's funny how sometimes you really just don't know the answer until someone's on their knees and asks you.

It's his mom’s ring in his hands, pulled from his pocket, held up to the light. It catches her eye and she recognizes it, remembers the way she stared at it the first time he showed her, years ago, and back then maybe it was all she ever wanted.

His mom watches now. Watches and waits for her ring to be put on the hand of another.

Something slips from Leslie's hand and suddenly her champagne glass is shattered on the floor, across her feet, scratching the skin and threatening to tear her open. It shocks her out of her stupor, and Ben is still watching, barely breathing, as Leslie finally shakes her head.

“Les…?” he whispers, a crack in his voice, and she gasps.

“No,” she cries. “No, no, no.”

“Please. Leslie, what? Please—”

_ “I can't.” _

And his heart shatters like her glass.

-

He sobs after her, confused, pushing past the landing, standing out in the snow, leaving the cold empty house where no one is celebrating like they should be. He begs her, really, just for a reason, what this even means, telling her he's been planning this out for months now, and it was never supposed to end like this.

She can't give a reason.

She's just not ready.

The words hit him like a crack in the face, and she watches him go, fingers frozen, face flushed, curling his red flannel tighter around himself as if that might warm the ice around his heart.

So Leslie goes home, and she drinks more champagne.

-

He doesn't hear most of what they say to him.

It feels empty, despite the crowd of people, and they stare as he comes back in, stare as he reaches for the champagne and drinks right from the bottle. He's not nearly drunk enough for the whispers, not nearly okay enough to hear  _ “she would've looked so beautiful,”  _ or  _ “she should've said yes.” _

_ She would've made such a lovely bride. _

He knows, he's always known, since the moment he met her, he pictured her in a white dress and his mother's ring on her finger.

_ What a shame she's fucked in the head. _

They say it's the champagne, or her ambition, a mad woman with no desire to do anything but go up. They think she's crazy, and the angry part of him wants to agree, but he can't.  _ He can't.  _

_ You'll find someone else. _

He’ll find someone else to wear that ring, someone else to dance with him, someone to kiss at midnight and someone to sneak away with. Someone who can do all the things that she did and not leave him at the end of it. Someone who can heal him.

At least, that's what his friends say. 

Maybe one day, he’ll walk through this house and nobody will say a thing. Maybe it'll be decorated all the same, these hallowed halls, and all his friends won't say these words again. Like trauma, like a shot in his heart that he doesn't want to be reminded of.

But for now, he just drinks more champagne.

-

He's too drunk to drive, so he books the night train.

It's fine. It gives him time. A moment where he's not overwhelmed by questions and sympathies and skeptics, a moment where the world is silent and everyone is sleeping and nobody here knows who he is. And nobody cares, either.

He lets it hurt. He lets himself cry. He stares at her picture in his wallet and he wonders, just wonders  _ why,  _ where it went wrong, what he could've done to be better for her.

It overwhelms him now, his thoughts, and the silence screams. It taunts him, nothing else to focus on but this hurt. He wants to wither away or go find her or drink more champagne until all his problems go away, but maybe he won't touch champagne ever again. Maybe all the holidays and the lights and the stars in the sky are ruined for him now because she's no longer in them, and she's the only reason they shined. And Ben can't be alone with his thoughts anymore, not when they're so cruel, not when her face haunts him but he can't stop staring.

Between bustling crowds and silent sleepers, he's not sure which is worse.


	3. speak now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on Speak Now.
> 
> Also posted in my original drabble collection "Smallest Parks."

Leslie doesn't know what she's doing here.

When he sent her the invitation through the mail, for a long time she was convinced he sent it to her by accident. She threw the envelope across the room and drank almost an entire bottle of wine before she was able to revisit it, and there was no mistaking it.

_ Join us for the wedding of Benjamin Wyatt and Caroline Jones. _

It's addressed to  _ Leslie Knope,  _ and she couldn't deny it— Ben is getting married. To some woman she doesn't know. And decided to invite his secret ex-girlfriend.

Leslie sits in the pews of the church in one of her finest red dresses, her palms shaking as they lie flat on her thighs. The music is starting and, oh god,  _ there he is.  _ He's in a tux that fits him just right, flatters him perfectly, and it strikes her that this is the first time she's seen him since he left Pawnee just a year ago.

_ Just a year ago,  _ they had cut off their secret relationship, and now he's getting married.

She's beautiful. Leslie can't deny that. And she's tall. Brunette. Skinny and elegant and stunning and everything Leslie is not. His bride-to-be walks down the aisle and she dazzles the room, stealing the attention of everyone in the audience. Even Leslie watches her, her brows furrowed, trying to picture this woman with Ben.

_ Her  _ Ben. Trying to picture her kissing Ben, getting into bed with Ben, being the one he tells everything to. Being the one he trusts more than everyone, that he goes to first, that he looks at with love in his eyes just like he used to look at Leslie.

It doesn't fit. It doesn't work.  _ It's all wrong. _

Ben looks up and he sees his bride-to-be, in all her glory and her silky hair and flowing white dress. The change in his face is instantaneous. His eyes soften and he grins, choking back happy laughter. His chest heaves and his face is red, and Leslie knows he's crying. He's so in awe of this girl that he is  _ crying,  _ he sees his whole future with her, a family and a home.

She wonders, not for the first time, if he would still be looking at Leslie like that if she had just said screw it.

They come together. They hold hands. They say their vows, and Leslie hears none of it. There is only a loud ringing in her ears, static in her brain, her vision blurring with bright lights and blinding white and tears that she can't stop from coming.

Only one line cuts through the static.

“Does anyone object?”

Leslie's heart pounds in her chest, her palms sweaty, clutching the fabric of her dress in her fists. She could say something. She could stop this.  _ She could. _

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

But she doesn't.

She is silent.

The happy couple says  _ I do  _ and then they kiss, and Leslie just stares down at her hands, where bright red marks have formed from digging in her fingernails.

Leslie loves him.

And now no one will ever know.


	4. come back... be here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on Come Back... Be Here.
> 
> Also posted on my original drabble collection "Smallest Parks."

_ You have to go to Washington. _

_ I was being selfish. _

_ You put your whole life on hold for me. The least I can do is try to return the favor. _

Leslie doesn't regret these words. She can't, not when it comes down to it. Washington was an excellent opportunity for Ben, and she couldn't let him pass it up in good conscience.

But she does kind of wonder what it would be like now if she never told him to go.

For the first month, everything is okay. She doesn't see him, but that's fine. They video call everyday. He smiles at her the same way he always has and he tells her he loves her. He texts her goodnight and sends three hearts, everytime. And Leslie will smile and sleep soundly, wishing he was there, but knowing he's okay. They're okay.

The second month gets a little weirder.

She still hasn't visited but Ben insists it's because he's just so busy. He wants to see her, he says, but the campaign is really picking up. He would have no time to give to her. Their calls get shorter and shorter and he looks more tired in each one, sweat on his brow and bags under his eyes, and he doesn't elaborate on why. Just that he's busy. That she shouldn't worry. That he loves her.

Goodnight texts with three hearts.

The third month comes and Leslie feels cold in bed and none of her shirts smell like Ben anymore. She starts to feel like she's being irritating, when she calls him, and he doesn't answer as often as he used to. And when he does, it's less than five minutes at a time, his voice clipped and cold, and she can't help but wonder if Washington is just hurting him. A couple days go by when he doesn't call at all but Leslie says it's fine, it's fine. She knows he loves her. They've gone through worse and made it out alive.

Four months in and he sends her a goodnight text, this time with only one heart.

And it shouldn't mean anything, really, but it does.

Because he never says good morning. Never says good afternoon, never asks how her day went. He doesn't call her and when she calls him, it goes to voicemail.

_ But it's fine,  _ Leslie thinks. He's just busy. Once he's free he’ll get back to her. He has more important things to tend to than her.

She’ll survive.

She texts him everyday. She'll tell him what she eats for breakfast and the latest work antics, how Jeremy Jamm has tried to ruin her plans this time, whatever racist thing Milton said, or sexual thing Dexhart said. She texts him about Tom’s latest business ideas and about her girls nights with Ann, and how Chris is doing as City Manager. She tells him she misses him. She texts him about how pretty the skies look and how she wishes he could see how clean the parks are right now, and she tells him she misses sleeping next to him. How she hasn't been able to sleep the same way ever since he left for DC. She's getting only three hours a night and sometimes she thinks she's going crazy.

He still doesn't answer.

Around month five the panic sets in.

Ben is supposed to be back in Pawnee in a month and he hasn't said a word to her in even longer than that. His last text to her is that goodnight message with only one heart, everything sent after that left completely unanswered. She scrolls and she scrolls and all she sees are her own messages and she  _ panics. _

No one can possibly be that busy.

Is he dead? Is he lost? Did he lose his phone somewhere? Maybe he got a new number and hasn't figured out how to contact her yet. Maybe he hasn't received any of her messages and  _ he’s  _ wondering why  _ she  _ hasn't texted  _ him. _

Because if he could, he would absolutely be texting back, right?

Her messages to him get a little crazier.

_ ‘Ben.’ _

_ ‘Please answer.’ _

_ ‘I need to know you're okay.’ _

_ ‘Please, please talk to me. Talk to me.’ _

_ ‘I love you.’ _

_ ‘I miss you so much. I can't do this without you.’ _

_ ‘Come back.’ _

_ ‘Dammit Ben. Please. Come back. I love you.’ _

_ ‘Please…’ _

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing from Ben at all.

Leslie is heaving into her pillow with broken sobs, her laptop open on her bed. His profile is up and he's better than ever, he's been posting, he has  _ time.  _ He's happy. Ben is happy. 

Out of all the possibilities she considered, she never imagined this. She never thought that Ben just didn't  _ want  _ to message her anymore, didn't feel the need to, found so many things that were more important than her.

It strikes her that this is his way of leaving her. That they've likely been broken up for over a month now.

And all she can ask herself is  _ why?  _ Why is he doing this? Why didn't he say anything? Why did he take the cowards way out?

Why doesn't he want her? Why isn't she good enough? Why does he hate her?  _ Why? _

Ben never does answer Leslie ever again.


End file.
